


Dreaming (Pynch)

by pynchs



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dreaming, M/M, coca cola shirt, cute pynch, dream pynch, dream ronan, pynch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:15:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pynchs/pseuds/pynchs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Ronan reaches out, his hands softly touching Adam’s face, and he does the same, as if he is a mirror. Adam’s face is delicate, and Ronan imagines all of the cells inside his body working to keep him alive, the millions of things inside him that care so deeply about the boy named Adam Parrish.</p><p>He cares so deeply about Adam Parrish. So much that it hurts him, it twists up inside of him and makes him want to punch a hole in a wall, drink a dark alcohol until he can pretend that he doesn’t."</p><p>Also a story where Ronan dreams of Adam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming (Pynch)

**Author's Note:**

> This is really short and basically a drabble, but I really wanted to share this. I originally posted this on my tumblr, where I post a lot of other drabbles and such (carstxairs) enjoy :)

Ronan Lynch was dreaming, he could almost always tell. There was an odd consistency of fluid motion that followed him throughout his dreams, a hazy feeling, as if he was walking through almost formed jello. Especially if he was having nightmares, then the consistency of his dreams would feel like he was trapped inside cherry flavored gelatin. He vividly remembered certain mornings where Niall Lynch would come out of his bedroom, looking bedraggled and sleep deprived, and ask Ronan’s mother if she could make jello. After awhile he added up that those mornings were the morning after a nightmare.

In Ronan’s dream, he was standing in a field covered in tiny pink flowers. You couldn’t see a blade of grass under the flowers that were stacked neatly and tightly next to one another, rows after rows of pink. The sight almost blinded him, the excessive amount of the bright hue beneath his feet. He found himself standing still, subconsciously unwilling to break a single petal. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a boy standing so far away he almost seems to be a blur, but Ronan recognizes him right away. Adam Parrish. The boy with the sandy brown hair and the freckled face, the boy with the elegant jawline and nimble hands. Adam Parrish. He is too far away. Ronan longs to go to him, but his legs are frozen. Staring at the silhouette of the boy in front of him, he casts his gaze back towards the flowers.

Once again, he remembers that he is dreaming. When this first occurred, his dreams, the hazy feeling controlled him, sending him through nightmares helpless and terrified. Now, the hazy feeling is just a downside, and closing his eyes tightly, Ronan wills the flowers to leave, leaving a bright green field in return. Suddenly his body is fluid, and he isn’t sure if he’s running, or if Adam is running, but soon they are inches away, Adam’s face illuminated with sun.

Ronan reaches out, his hands softly touching Adam’s face, and he does the same, as if he is a mirror. Adam’s face is delicate, and Ronan imagines all of the cells inside his body working to keep him alive, the millions of things inside him that care so deeply about the boy named Adam Parrish.

He cares so deeply about Adam Parrish. So much that it hurts him, it twists up inside of him and makes him want to punch a hole in a wall, drink a dark alcohol until he can pretend that he doesn’t.

“Why does this only happen in my dreams?” Ronan asks, his voice a mix of hurt and curiosity. Why doesn’t he ever have the nerve to do this in real life, to run his fingers down the curve of Adam’s neck, to feel sharpness of his collarbone, to taste his skin.

Adam, or really the fake Adam, the mirror Adam, shakes his head, light blazing in his eyes. Ronan knows if he stays next to him a few minutes longer he might pull him out of the dream, dream up a new Adam Parrish into existence, but he stays clung to him. This is all he wants. Their fingers rest on each other, trailing across each other’s skin, soft and hesitant. His hand rests on the curve of his hip, the other over his heart, and he can feel the rise and fall of his chest. Adam’s left hand rests on Ronan’s waist, the other placed behind his neck.

This is just a dream. It feels so real. He leans forward, just a fraction closer, and Adam does the same, mirroring him again, and then their lips are brushing against each other’s, faintly. Every nerve in his body is on fire, his fingers gripping Adam’s faded coca cola shirt.

Ronan wakes up with a start, restlessly, sweat glistening on his forehead. He can hear the shallow breaths he makes as he sits up, untangling his fingers from the coca cola t shirt he took with him from his dreams. Every fiber of his body still feels electrified as he swings his feet over his bed, feeling the cool of the floor dripping into the bottoms of his feet. Walking over to his dresser and opening up the third drawer, he places the shirt inside, alongside fifteen similar coca cola shirts.

Three days later, he adds a new coca cola shirt to his dresser, but this time it’s real.

 


End file.
